


apex predator

by mnabokov



Category: Chronicle (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:56:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1940115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnabokov/pseuds/mnabokov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He takes uncertainty and feeds it, molds it with his callused hands until it finally festers and coagulates. And then he’ll push on the hesitation, hold the uncertainty in his palm – clenches – until it bruises and colors to his will. His words scatter down an empty alley, clatter and echo, until they reach the back alley wall where they climb, find purchase in fissures in the blockade, gaps between russet bricks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	apex predator

It’s in the way he walks, the easy loping grace. Every stride is purposeful, propels him forward. He walks draped in a veil of solitude, wears it proudly around his neck. He never looks back and carries himself with an almost pretentious dignity.   
  
His eyes are sharp and cunning, his smirk knowing and full of sly malice. Even his fingers are long and elegant, pale and perfect just like everything else about him.  
  
He’s so _indifferent_ , cold, aloof, and uncaring.  
  
But there’s so much more to him than pretty eyes and a cool personality: his mind is intricate as it is complex; layers  upon layers of emotion and empathy, each level more intense than the last. A plethora of thoughts and feelings thrumming underneath his skin, flowing through his veins.   
  
(It’s written carefully into his DNA, permanently coded into his genetics.)  
  
He _sees_. Analyzes every expression, searches every smile, looking for a hitch, a flaw, hungry for a weakness. It’s something of a game for him, to find the tipping point. He hunts for cracks then expertly places his chisel, splits slabs of marble and granite without breaking sweat.  
  
He takes uncertainty and feeds it, molds it with his callused hands until it finally festers and coagulates. And then he pushes on the hesitation, holds the caprice in his palm – clenches – until it bruises and colors to his will.  
  
Apex predator.  
  
He reaps and he sows. Feeds an incessant whisper of lies into empty minds until his ideas take root. His words scatter down empty allies, clatter and echo, until they reach the back alley wall where they climb, find purchase in fissures and gaps between russet bricks. There his power is a great vine, no leaves and all thorns as it consumes every last bit of sun to continue growing.  
  
He is always fluctuating. Teasing and tasting but never fully giving in. He’s a natural flirt, his voice smooth, mellifluous in ways so inexplicably compelling. He knows which places to trace, where to touch, what to grasp and _pull_.   
  
Sexual appeal dangles in a wicker basket on his arm – feigning innocence when he knows exactly what he’s doing – and appeal oozes from his very being, trailing behind where he goes in a great viscous trail.  
  
It’s the little bit that he gives, the tiniest taste he offers, which hooks his prey with an alarmingly firm grip.  
  
 _Craving_.  
  
A desire or lust that is seemingly unquenchable by anything else. Human greed is his weapon of choice, a blade so finely tuned it stings for months on end to bear the smallest cut. He manipulates a downfall of his kind to benefit himself, transforms man’s greatest weakness into his greatest strength.   
  
(He is an apex predator.)   
  
_fin_   
  



End file.
